


The Colours I Love You In

by blifuys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: Over the clash of wits as they debated into the night, their teas already cold and no longer steaming, Dimitri falls in love harder. He falls in love with the man that tells him that his ideas are too lofty and idealistic for the real world. He falls in love with the man that pauses to think—those sharp eyes turned downwards as he mulled over a topic; examining the argument from every angle possible.In the silence, Dimitri watches Claude, and he can’t help but think—Goodness, do I love you so.Vignettes of Dimitri and Claude's relationship - one colour at a time.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	The Colours I Love You In

**Author's Note:**

> (hits the woah) happy birthday claude ily
> 
> technically day 3's prompt - colours.

i. **purple** , like the petals of lavender upon the curve of your lips

“—so Lorenz stopped by and left a bag for us.”

Dimitri holds the soft pouch in his hands. The fabric feels luxurious in his hands, which he expected nothing less of his and Claude’s old college friend. He feels the leaves inside the pouch crinkle and crunch with a gentle squeeze of his hand. Twisted onto the close of the bag is a golden tag emblazoned with gold cursive letters: _Aegir & Co. (1821) Lavender Loose Leaf. _

“Lavender?” Dimitri questions the choice of tea that Lorenz has gifted them with. “I won’t say I’m not grateful, but he’s never given us this type of tea before.”

“Dunno. He said it was good for relaxation—why not, right?” Claude places his hands on his hips as he grins, and Dimitri’s heart does a cartwheel in his chest.

Lorenz does not come over to their small apartment often, but when he does, he always leaves a gift behind; a carefully-selected item from the high-end shops in the countries he jets off to. It is thanks to Lorenz that Dimitri and Claude’s kitchen always smells faintly of tea, earthy and flowery notes mixing into the wooden boards of their cupboards.

“You wanna have this for tea today?” Claude asks, already making his way over to the kettle. Like a little puppy, Dimitri keeps on Claude’s trail; following him closely as he places the woven bag of tea next to Claude on the counters.

“Sure,” Dimitri replies. “Supposedly, lavender is good for sleep and anxiety.”

“And helps reduce inflammation too! And aids digestion!” Claude says.

“You are very knowledgeable about these things, it seems,” Dimitri laughs, and he pulls a porcelain teapot out of the overhead cupboard; pearlescent sheen shining under the low light of their kitchen.

“Sure, thank Hilda for my award-winning knowledge on the world of floral and fauna,” Claude scoops the leaves into the pot, the dried bits tinkling against the bottom of the pot. “Being friends with her has its perks, I guess.”

“Shocking, I didn’t know you stabbed your friends in the back like this, Claude! Where do your alliances lie?”

“Nowhere,” Claude says, “No one is safe around me.”

Dimitri laughs again.

Their routine is predictable. Every day at around 8pm, they would brew a pot of tea; taking time out of their long day to talk about everything and nothing. Dimitri finds these times particularly cosy and domestic. They’d take a seat on the couch, overlooking the city in the cloak of the night, illuminated by lights twinkling like stars in the sky.  
  
Dimitri would always tuck himself next to Claude, making himself comfortable while the rush of the day prior begins to fade—leaving nothing but bliss and silence behind as they wind down before bed.

It is during their shared tea times that Dimitri gets to watch Claude chatter without restraint. He listens to everything that comes to Claude’s mind, mostly from his adventures of the day, like his complaints about his department and their general incompetency and _does nobody know how to fill a spreadsheet out correctly? That shit isn’t hard if you put in the effort to learn!_

And Dimitri adores every single moment of it. He listens to Claude and accepts him, accepts every little thing that he presents to Dimitri, and more.

He knows that Claude does just the same. The way Claude kept his eyes on him the entire time without looking away, even over a topic that they didn’t agree on. Over the clash of wits as they debated into the night, their teas already cold and no longer steaming, Dimitri falls in love harder. He falls in love with the man that tells him that his ideas are too lofty and idealistic for the real world. He falls in love with the man that pauses to think—those sharp eyes turned downwards as he mulled over a topic; examining the argument from every angle possible.

In the silence, Dimitri watches Claude, and he can’t help but think— _Goodness, do I love you so._

The lavender smells _good_ , wonderfully so. The scent makes Dimitri want to lean back into a nice warm chair, curling up with a good book in hand, and his boyfriend on his lap. Perhaps it is a placebo that works its magic within Dimitri's naturally tense body, but he feels better already; like he might be able to drift off to sleep quickly tonight.

"Gosh, that smells really good," Claude echoes his thoughts, picking up his cup from the table. He gently blows on the surface of the amber-brown liquid, the tiny purple petals that drift in the tea quaking gently from the force of his breath, before he takes a sip.

"So?" Dimitri asks, hooking his finger into the handle of his own teacup. "How is it?"

“ _Mm_ ," Claude lowers the cup, and he smiles, "It's really good, actually. Kind of has a slightly minty aftertaste?"

In his haste to taste the tea, the petals from the tea leaves stay stuck on Claude’s mouth; pressed against the wet, smooth surface of those soft lips. It amuses Dimitri, the unexpected charms that his boyfriend, even after all this time, tends to show in the most random moments.

And he loves it. There's nothing else that can compare to these little moments Dimitri shares with Claude. The more time he spends around Claude, the more he loves him—that same lifting feeling spreading through his body like the warmth of the tea they drink before they move Dimitri’s fingers toward Claude’s mouth.

His thumb brushes Claude’s lip, and Dimitri watches the way the plumpness gives way under the slightest pressure, even when he simply brushes a petal away.

“I love you,” Dimitri mutters, and his head gravitates toward Claude like its always done—from the very beginning. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Claude whispers, “I love you, Dimitri.”

And the space between them closes.

ii. **blue,** like the neon lights that burn and flicker

Dimitri is surprisingly familiar with the city’s nightlife, albeit a bit shameful about that fact.

The truth is, he’s been to the clubs plenty of times—dragged by none other than a certain redhead friend of his. He’s never enjoyed it. Dimitri remembers the times where he got bumped by everyone on the dance floor; the stench of alcohol lingering on his clothes and breath for hours after they’ve finally left the club, and the suspicious splatter on his shoes that’s far too similar to vomit for his liking.

And yet, it's different whenever he's with Claude.

His night started out with a request—a pretty innocent one, really. Claude had asked for a _date_ , after being busy at work for so long. Dimitri had been pretty busy too, lately, and he hasn’t been able to see Claude until dinner time at the earliest.

There were many suggestions thrown out. Dinner at a restaurant? Claude wasn't that hungry. A walk in the park? Dimitri felt it was too humid tonight, not wanting to return home with sweat drenching his shirt and dripping off the tips of his blonde locks. A movie? But there wasn't anything particularly interesting this time of year.

Until Claude had innocently mentioned the club.

“We haven’t been there in a while—when was the last time you had _fun_ , Dima?” Claude asked, his head nestled comfortably on Dimitri’s firm stomach like a pillow as he pouted up at him. Dimitri gently ran his fingers through the soft, wavy brown hair; kneading Claude’s scalp as he dragged his hand over his head.

“I don’t know, last Friday day was pretty fun for me,” Dimitri smirks—and Claude rolls his eyes, amused with his boyfriend’s teasing.

“ _Besides that,_ ” Claude says. “We should go to the club. Get drunk as hell and wake up sore tomorrow.”

“We could just do that at home,” Dimitri offers, “We still have some wine, I think.”

“But where’s the fun in that!”

Claude pouted harder. It’s ironic, how their friends tell them all the time that Dimitri looks so much like a puppy; but Claude had the puppy-dog-eyes down pat. His bottom lip _quivered_ like he was about to cry—and Dimitri?

How on earth could he say no to that?

So, on his Friday evening, the first one in a while where he has all the time in the world, Dimitri feels his heart pound in tune to the music; while the bass rushes through his veins.

It’s strange to return to a place he associates with his youth—a time where his rational thought was clouded in angst and emotion; bursting at the seams to the point of destruction.

After all these years, the place hasn't changed. There are still people pushing him around, although he's much larger now; easier for him to wade through the crowds. He's very sure the scent of alcohol will cling to his clothes all the way home—and he'll have to deal with it when they do laundry on the weekend. He's a little scared to look down at his shoes. Knowing his luck, they're _already_ stained by the suspicious splatters he dreads so much.

But it’s worth it.

They’re bathed in the blue neon lights of the club. The spotlights roam around the floor, sweeping over the bodies of people, and every once in a while the light illuminates Claude in front of him. In these times, Dimitri gets to see Claude smiling; celebrating the night in time with the beat that throbs through the floor and the air. 

Claude dances like he’s music himself: the sway of his hips in those tight, high-waisted jeans that accentuate and emphasise the curve of his bottom; the way his body rolls like smoke in the wind to the song; the mischevious glint in those eyes that speak to Dimitri—

 _Come and get me if you can_ , they say to him.

And Dimitri accepts the challenge.

Before Claude can get too far, Dimitri presses himself against his boyfriend’s side, trying to allow himself to relax enough to sway along. But his head is filled with nothing but Claude, Claude, _Claude_. His hands find themselves against Claude’s sides, pulling him in closer—

“What’s up with you?” Claude’s lips find the shell of Dimitri’s ear, the smaller of the two having to lift himself up by the tips of his toes. “You seem a little antsy tonight.”

Dimitri growls in response.

“You’re purring into my ear like you’re so innocent,” Dimitri pulls himself away before he fits himself into his boyfriend’s back, “You know _exactly_ what you’re doing.”

“Maybe I do,” Claude smirks. “Maybe I don’t. Enlighten me?”

Despite not ever drinking a single drop of alcohol tonight, Dimitri feels his head get lighter and lighter—hungry for kisses and touches from the man that so eagerly offered them; even in the middle of a crowd of faceless people.

And suddenly, he runs.

Dimitri grabs Claude’s hand, pulling his boyfriend along as they run straight towards the exit. There are many plans running through Dimitri’s head at the moment, but the fastest way to execute them is in the bathroom.

Not the most hygienic of places, but it'll do for now.

Hungrily, Claude presses Dimitri against the door of one of the bathroom stalls—claiming desperate kisses for every moment Dimitri’s kept him waiting. His hands run under Dimitri’s shirt, feeling up his firm stomach and every line and crevice in his strong body. 

He _shivers—_ shivers when Dimitri kisses him back with just as much hunger, biting his lips until they puff and swell with Dimitri’s love. Slowly, Dimitri drags his lips from Claude’s to his neck; pulling the trail of love bites downwards. In response, Claude tilts his head back and moans—a breathy gasp as he pulls Dimitri’s head down.

And he asks for more, to which Dimitri complies.

He is intoxicated by Claude’s love, and he loses himself to the night—drowning and drinking every little drop he offers.

iii. **green** , is for the emeralds of your eyes—

Unlike the romance novels that pass through his desk every single day without fail, Dimitri does not think that love at first sight exists.

The ideas in the manuscripts he reviews are quite similar—those who are meant to fall in love will do so at the first brush of the finger; the first time their eyes lock; the first time their name is uttered.

Too many times has he been told that what he and Claude have is akin to a fairytale romance written _just like_ the manuscripts that find themselves on his desk. What they have is perfection, nothing but love for each other keeping them going. He wakes up to happiness and goes to bed with contentment, not a single rainy day whenever Claude’s around.

How far from the truth.

See, Dimitri and Claude couldn't be further from perfection. At the very core, they are two very different people with too many different parts that won't fit together, no matter how hard they try. Too many times has Dimitri slept on the couch over arguments he cannot remember the start of, and too many times has Claude stayed over at Hilda’s house overnight—only to return to Dimitri a day or two later.

They fight. They cry. They argue. They scream.

They claw for dominance—to _win_ whatever argument they begin. No one ever said that Dimitri and Claude had the best patience and temperament, no one had ever factored the potential problems that could arise from both of them when they talk about their relationship. 

It is during one of their arguments that Dimitri decides to take a walk in the city to cool off. He does not know where his feet take him, but he walks—trying his damned hardest to let the flames of his anger roll off his back and onto the floor, long forgotten by the time he returns to the apartment.

Since Dimitri’s 22nd birthday, he’s learned to control his temper. Blind anger used to control him to the very core, and no matter how hard he tried, the rage was the only thing he could feel at times; a response to the horrors of his past that he’s had to ignored till he broke. Some days he feels that angry boy whisper in his head—that life was unfair, _unfair, unfair—_ and Dimitri feels his ego take over once more.

Their argument had started out benign. Something over politics that Dimitri had brought up that got more and more heated over their lunch. Their words were sharp, and the discussions of the initial topic had long stopped as their blood boiled and spilled over.

Too much. Claude had stopped the argument with a simple request to be left alone. The memory of him putting down his plate in the sink and storming off to their room is vivid and fresh in his mind, and Dimitri is left unsatisfied over words he is unable to say; ego wounded from the defeat that his mind considers this to be.

Walks calm him down. The city has many sights, sounds, and smells that feel so much like home to Dimitri. His feet somehow bring him straight past a line of stores that he and Claude have walked past too many times to count; the same pattern of pretzel store-lingerie store-bubble tea store-jewellers-clothing store greeting him with their strange mix of smells and sights.

He’s always questioned the strange choice of stores to Claude, who simply laughed and agreed with him.

There are many people here on a weekend afternoon. It’s not surprising to him, but the flow of the crowd had taken him straight past this row of stores. He wonders when he should return home—his anger seemed to be blowing off already, Dimitri in a more rational state of mind to talk by the time he got back to Claude, and—

An emerald glint catches him mid-thought from the corner of his eye as he passes by the jewellers.

His feet come to a stop. The people behind him make a noise of irritation since Dimitri had disrupted the flow of the crowd so suddenly, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

There had been discussion between them for a while. Together, they’ve spent a good eight years together—close to nine now. Truthfully, Dimitri cannot see himself living without Claude, even in the current state of anger his mind is shrouded in.

The band of the ring in the display is gold—so polished and shiny that the light bounces off the metal. It’s not a thick band—quite thin, actually—but the beautiful round emerald embedded in the band takes his breath away.

The gem is not the same shade of emerald he’s used to seeing. It’s a lighter shade, a lot more translucent than the standard cut, but in Dimitri’s eyes—it’s perfect. It matches Claude’s eyes perfectly.

The more he stares at the ring, nestled on the display box for the world to see, the more he thinks about Claude—how those eyes could take his breath away in the most unexpected moments.

How he wishes he could watch those eyes forever. How he wishes he could keep Claude by his side, through life and death, sickness and health, wealth and riches—

How he wishes he could see Claude smile into the twilight of their years, watching his face wrinkle more and more with laugh lines. There are many regrets in Dimitri's life, but not a single one of them has anything to do with Claude.

No. He wouldn’t trade anything in the world for the time he has with him—not even the worst of their arguments and disagreements.

The anger melts away like snow. In its place, an idea blossoms and takes root in his head—

Without a second thought, Dimitri sets foot into the jewelry shop.

And if the box in his pocket weighs a little heavy in his pocket on his way home, Dimitri doesn’t mind. He knows this is what he wants—and he can only hope, despite all the arguments, the imperfections within him and more, that Claude will say yes.

As he rides the subway towards his part of the city, he thinks about the stone that glimmers under the sun, and the way Claude’s eyes shine verdant—beautiful and deep.

iv. **yellow** , for my sweater you wear like a second skin

“Dimitri, we’re going to be late!” Claude peeks his head from around the corner, in the middle of the chaos. “Did you bring the boarding passes?”

“Yeah,” Dimitri says, “I put them with the passports!”

This time of year, Claude and Dimitri make plans to visit Claude's parents. Their yearly trips bring Dimitri out of one city into another—but Dimitri thinks it's worth it. He gets to spend time with the people that accepted him wholeheartedly into his family—the same people that send Dimitri home at least a few kilos heavier after days of feeding him good food.

It’s the closest thing that Dimitri has to an actual family these days.

Their flight is in the morning, though Claude insists on being there at least three hours earlier—despite the fact that by doing so, they’d be waking up in the middle of the night. _You can sleep on the plane_ , Claude says, to which Dimitri agrees—he’s not much of movie watcher anyway.

Plus, he gets to be next to Claude the entire time. Despite the sheer discomfort the economy seats give his larger, bulky body, Dimitri’s heart pounds with sheer excitement over the ability to hold Claude’s hand as he sleeps. The thought alone pushes him to get up this morning, and get ready for their ride to the airport.

“Are you ready?” Dimitri calls out as he pulls on his navy-blue coat, buttoning the front to trap the warmth against his chest. “I’m out in the kitchen when you are!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

On cue, Claude stumbles out of their bedroom as he fumbles around with a bundle of yellow fabric wrapped around his body. He struggles to pull on the clothing, and it takes him a good few seconds before he stops in front of Dimitri, his body frame puffed up from the large, baggy sweater that dips down to his thighs. The sleeves cover the base of his palms, and the sweater is obviously _not_ for a person of Claude’s size, but—

It takes Dimitri a good few seconds for him to register exactly what he’s looking at.

“Claude,” Dimitri begins. “Is that my sweater?”

“Yeah,” Claude replies, but he does not seem ashamed or phased by the fact. “Why?”

Dimitri feels his brain short-circuiting.

“I just thought it would be comfy,” Claude continues, not realising the effect he has on Dimitri by wearing his sweater alone. “Since it’s a long flight, why not, right?”

“I see,” Dimitri takes the fabric of the sweater between his thumb and forefinger, allowing himself to feel the softness. It’s clearly been worn for a while now; the sweater does not have the standard stiffness of post-wash laundry—and it’s warm. “When was the last time we washed this?”

“Um, about two weeks now,” Claude replies. “But I don’t really wanna do it.”

“Why?”

Claude stays silent for a moment, hesitating. What did Claude wish to say? Dimitri watches as a faint blush tinges his boyfriend's cheeks, Claude looking away and averting his gaze from Dimitri's intense, questioning gaze. It takes a good few seconds before Claude finally speaks—

“—‘r scent.” He mumbles, too soft that Dimitri can barely catch the last words leaving him.

“Huh?”

“I said,” Claude says louder this time, and his face is twisted with fluster— _frowning_ as if he'd prefer to be anywhere other than here right now. "I don't want to wash it, because it'll wash off your scent!"

Oh.

_Oh._

His heart leaps in his chest before it melts into goo, ponding feelings in his torso as he restrains himself from peppering kisses all over his lover's face.

“Claude,” Dimitri says as he slides his hands into Claude’s, pushing them into Claude’s pockets as he lightly presses their foreheads together. His eyes are so bright up close, even in the middle of the night where the sun sits below the horizon. “You… You are so beautiful.”

Because what else could he say? What else could he say that could tell Claude the euphoria that Dimitri feels around him? In his opinion, no language could _ever_ explain the depth of his feelings for his boyfriend—no language that could even scratch the surface of how important Claude is to him.

“I love you,” Dimitri says, for the millionth time in the long years they’ve spent together. His lips gently brush against Claude’s, before he moves to his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, and his nose. “I love you so, so much.”

"Jeez, you're making me all shy, Dimitri," Claude whines, dragging out the words in embarrassment as he tries to hide his face away. "Stop. We gotta go now, we’ll be late.”

Dimitri laughs and pulls Claude closer, gently leaving one last lingering kiss on his lips. He’ll give him more over the course of the day, but Dimitri kisses him always like it’s his last.

v. **orange** , in the streaks of light in your hair at sunset

Claude’s hometown is quite similar to the city they live in, save for the weather and the cuisine.

It's much warmer where he's from—and Claude made sure that Dimitri packed lots of thin clothing for their trip. His bags are full of tank tops, shorts, thin cotton shirts with nice, wide necklines. Every night, in Claude's hometown, Dimitri looks forward to taking a nice cold shower, allowing the thin film of sweat and grime on his skin to wash away before he goes to bed.

The von Riegans are a homely bunch—comprising of a strict man and his equally strict wife. Dimitri knows the tense relationship Claude has with his parents, especially since Claude himself is a person of progression; he believes that the world could be so much better if only the people would learn to open their hearts and minds. But ideals never solved wars and crises, and so Claude continues to battle with his own parents over ideology and principle.

But that does not cover over the fact that his parents love Claude dearly; and Claude, them. The way Dimitri sees his boyfriend rush into his parents’ embrace after so long apart from each other, tight hugs full of love and unspoken _I-miss-you_ s, and _how-have-you-beens_. Dimitri, of course, is not excluded from this love—Mrs von Riegan had personally given him the tightest hug she could muster, raining question after question down on Dimitri as she checks his frame for any signs of illness, of his general wellbeing.

Mr von Riegan himself had _hugged_ him. Claude had told him extensively of his father’s famous cold disposition, only showing his softer side to his wife and kid. The fact that Claude’s father had welcomed him with open arms and a firm pat on the back told Dimitri enough about the family’s acceptance of him.

And honestly? He’s touched. He’s touched that the von Riegans have taken him in as their own, and he’s honored to sit at the dining table with them; shovelling his face with Mrs von Riegan’s world class cuisine, and listen to Mr von Riegan’s accounts of his youth, along with his wisdom that he’s accumulated over the years.

Tonight, they have no plans in particular—only to take a walk along the beach after dinner. Dimitri’s never had many opportunities to go to the beach, so Claude decided that they’d spend some time together while they were still in his home town.

Dimitri had attempted to invite Claude’s parents on this walk—but somehow, they knew better than to intrude on this quality time that Claude’s managed to fit in for him and his boyfriend. The older von Riegans sent Dimitri and Claude on their way; Dimitri’s sure he saw a twinkle in Mrs von Riegan’s eye on his way out.

The first thing he notices about the beach is how gorgeous it looks.

The sun hangs at the edge of the world—orange flame burning in the distance and coating the world in an orange, fiery tint. The light makes Claude look much softer than he usually is; something about the warmth making his boyfriend look calm, peaceful—content with the world.

The wet sand digs into the bottom of Dimitri’s feet, clumping between his toes while the waves roll over the shore. There is nothing to distract them here. The birds soar and dive through the flame sky as the day comes to an end; and Claude?

His hand is wrapped around Dimitri’s—where it belongs, now, then, and forevermore.

“It’s always nice to see my parents,” Claude mutters as they face the sunset. “But I was looking forward to spending some quality time with you, doing nothing.”

“Yes,” Dimitri replies. “I was looking forward to this too.”

But Dimitri, unknown to Claude, has an agenda in mind.

His shorts are baggy, enough to hide the box in his pocket. The weight grows heavier still, making itself more apparent as Dimitri searches for the earliest opportunity to ask—yet, would Claude accept in the first place? Who is Dimitri to ask him for something so serious, something so permanent and life-changing in the first place?

“Claude,” Dimitri begins, clearing his throat of the lump that’s found itself there. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah?” Claude turns his head to face his boyfriend, tilting up ever so slightly to match Dimitri’s taller height.

Oh.

_Oh no._

The lump grows bigger again, and it feels like his heart’s caught in his throat; pounding against the walls of his gullet as his hands get sweaty, weirdly hot and uncomfortable. There are so many things that can go wrong from this point onwards—Claude could say no, could reject him and demand that they break up. A seagull could possibly come by and swoop the ring away before he had the opportunity to present it to Claude, there—

No. He would _not_ overthink this. He would be strong and brave.

"Claude," Dimitri repeats and Claude's gaze follows him, even as he sinks below Claude's height and onto his knee. In his surprise, Claude's eyes widen in confusion, and Dimitri feels his heart wobble unsteadily— "I've thought about this for a while."

8 years. 2920 days. 70,080 hours—and counting. They’ve been together for so long; so long that they had been their firsts in many things.

And now, Dimitri wanted to be Claude’s last.

There are many things he’d like to say, the myriad of ways in which he loved Claude, and what he loved Claude for—but.

“I… I did not think ahead about what I would say here, but,” Dimitri pulls the red velvet box out, gently pulling back on the lid to reveal the bright sheen of the emerald stone in the ring. “Claude von Riegan, I love you.”

“You are the person I’d like to spend the rest of my life with—and watch you grow old and even more beautiful still. I am not a man of many qualities, I am far from that, but if you could give me the honor of being your husband, I—”

“Yes.”

_Yes?_

Dimitri glances up at Claude’s face in shock, having stared at his chin this entire time in fear. It shocks him when he sees Claude tearing up, his face twisted in embarrassment—in fluster, his lips curled down while the tears threaten to spill over.

“Stupid, stupid stupid _stupid—_ ” Claude falls to his knees, ignoring the way the water made his knees and legs wet. “You’re _so_ —! I can’t believe you went out of your way to—!”

“Is it really that unbelievable, my dear?” Dimitri chuckles and gently takes his hand with his free one, thumbing over the knuckles so tenderly. “You may underestimate exactly how much I love you.”

“I just can’t believe—” Claude sniffles, using the back of his hand to wipe at the tears. “That you’d choose me. Of all people. You could have anyone in the world you wanted, and you still chose _me._ ”

“But I want _you_ , Claude,” Dimitri insists, baffled that Claude would think otherwise. The extent of his love ran deep, and for Dimitri to look at _anyone_ that wasn’t the man in front of him—unthinkable. “I want you. And I’m asking for your hand in marriage, officially.”

Without hesitation, Dimitri pulls his hand back, plucking the delicate ring out of its box.

“May I have the honors, my darling?”

Shyly, Claude holds his left hand out, meeting Dimitri’s as he interlocks their fingers lightly. Dimitri’s lips spread across his face in a wide smile, and he pinches Claude’s fingers to straighten them out one by one.

The action feels too natural to Dimitri. He does not fumble as he gently slides the ring onto Claude’s fourth finger; and he watches the way the stone sparkles under the sky—turned red as the sun hides further down beyond the horizon.

Under the firey sky, he watches Claude smile. Only the wind and sea witnesses their promise to each other—a vow to _forever_ , and a fated contract that Dimitri fully intends on fulfilling.

“I love you,” Claude whispers, for what feels like the million-and-oneth time in the eight years they’ve been together. “I love you, so so much.”

“I love you too,” Dimitri responds, the first of the rest of their lives together. “My darling Claude.”

Under the sky that shifts from red to black, Dimitri spends the rest of the night with his fiancée, hand-in-hand as they whisper their hopes for the future.

vi. **red** , in the shades that paint the word love on your lips

"Do you ever think about the past?" Claude asks him, a fork stuck into his mouth as he munches on the bit of red velvet cake they're sampling.

It’s not a question that Dimitri would expect in the middle of wedding preparations, but he’s gotten used to the random thoughts coming from his fiancée at the strangest times.

“Hm, I used to,” Dimitri says, “But these days, I prefer to think about the things that may come. Edelgard is a good example of this school of thought—she’s always told me that there is no point in looking back to the past; only space to move forward into the future.”

“Bold words from the man that used to despise his sister.”

“Shut up, I was a very troubled child.”

Claude laughs at Dimitri’s response, before he follows up with another question: “So what do you think about the future?”

Dimitri pauses. There are many things he hopes to achieve—he’d like to get a raise at the publishing house, he’d like to adopt a cat when they move into their new house, but above all—

"I just really want to make you happy, my love," The answer is simple to Dimitri, and the way Claude flusters at his answer makes him happier that he's managed to break through his darling's cool, nonchalant façade once more. "You should be getting used to this by now, no?"

“Stop it, every time you act so smooth I think my heart might leap out my chest—” Claude pushes Dimitri’s face away. “I might die.”

“Oh no, we can’t have that, can we now?” Dimitri wraps his arm around Claude’s waist, pulling him close and sneaking a kiss while no one’s looking. Claude blooms red, much like the roses that sit in the pretty, ornate vase nearby. “I refuse to be a widow before we even get to spend our lives together.”

“You’re a sly bastard, you know that, babe?” Claude pouts and reaches up, pinching Dimitri’s nose. “You’re damn lucky I love you.”

“Yeah,” Dimitri grins in response. His heart leaps in his chest as he thinks about this bliss he gets to have for the rest of his life. “I really am.”

**Author's Note:**

> did yall catch the gay flag ref  
>  [watch me combust into flames](https://twitter.com/blifuys)


End file.
